Benjamin Grabbed His Glicken and Ran
an autobiography
by Fred Jay Gordon
Smashwords Edition
ISBN: 978-1-4659-2978-5
Copyright 2012 Fred Jay Gordon
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author
vince baxter’s
GLICKEN ON,
BABY,
IT'S NOW
Copyright by R. H. Langlois
All rights reserved
Gotham Publications
Eighth Printing
remembering Harold Eisenberg who loved his life with a burst
Her hot lips smucked hard against his. They were coated with cheery red lipstick and when she finally unstuck their mouths, panting, a red circle covered him under his nose.
"Oh, Lex, Lex, Lex," she cried pushing her twatching body into his, "you've always known how I feel."
Lex glinted his reflection in her blue eyeglasses, pushed back his glisten white short hair, and with his left hand crunched the small of her back into him. His right hand glidded his vest, then rubbed hard against her breast. He stole out an automatic and banged her dead with a super-quick-quiet bullet.
"Lex!" she cried glancing her arms at him. "Oh, Lex!" He duped her away.
Readjusting his shoulder holster, he scalmly placed the hot steel back in his vest, pulled his red silk out of his
breast pocket and, holding the cloth between him and the phone, called the officials.
"Lex Baker, here."
"Yes, Baker," whinnied Sergeant Corgan.
"There's been a murder. The head of Pusher's Paradixe.
202 East 68th. Apartment 4C. You'll find her here." "Her?"
"The rug's just a splotch messy. But you fellows will tidy it all up, I suppose."
"Sure, Baker."
"Junse over here fast."
"Right, Baker. And Baker?"
"Yes?"
"Thanks, Baker."
"Yours truly," said Lex Baker swantly dropping the white phone onto the cradle.
Just before he exited the apartment, he flit a quick look around the white walls, the full length mirrors, the over power stuffed chairs, and the light green curtains letting in the afternoon strikey light. He straightened his tie in the mirror. From the reflection glare, he could whimpse her lying next to a yellow chintz sofa.
"Messy broad," he thought. "Typical that she couldn't even keep her eyeglasses on."
Lex Baker spun around on his heel and fleed.
"As for me," he thought gliding down Park Avenue in his new Coup d'Etat, "I'd better get over to Central and crisscross the results."
He speeded through a red light. The cop at the corner was about to rump after him on his cycle when he glanced the license plate. It said: POW.
Lex looked up through the windshield at the megopolis sky. "Oh, blue. Day of lovely," he said rubbing his chest and thinking warm. "It's the sap juicing up in me." He squinted into the mirror to check his skin. "If I can finish this POW job tonight-damn red tape-maybe Julie and I fly down to Acapulco for the weekend. Or Sally. Yes. Sally. Sally's super."
Whizzing over to HQ, Lex Baker found his bomber on a one-way-street traffic-free spree. No peds were x-ing; the way was lucid. Snap crackle out the door and up to carpet to see Boss Burney who waited while pulling his pipe.
"Baker,' said Burney in Burney's new plastic office, "you've closed Pusher's Paradixe with expertise I didn't suspect. It's the kind of case marvel we. Cholly glee. Promo certain again." Burney smiled largely at Lex who modest stood licking his lips tasting her red sticky color. "Why not Acapulco for the weekend? Brenda might be re¬checking a dossier. And a roomier roomie doesn't exist."
"Thanks, Burney, but I liken to my own availabilities."
"Sally?"
"Yes. Sally."
"She's more than dame, Lex."
"I know."
"See she handles right."
Lex didn't glicken his boss' wordage and facely showed his scowl.
"Now, Lex."
"Listen, Burney, my off-hour wackies are my own. Don't buddon."
"Just trying to friendly you."
"Don't, Burney. Friends we yes. But not-get it-not vaggy helpers."
"All right, Lex," said Burney grinking wide his mouth in spite of the downput. "All right, pal."
Lex Baker bowed his mock, ever so lightly, and left. It was Acapulco on his mind and if Sally could trave with him, they could flack together. So what if Burney knew. "Good aged Burney," thought Lex. "Always sticking his pigidin darkly. Ah, truly, but he's a terrific sort most¬ways."
He zipped down elevator to his Coup and rammed over to Sally who wrappled her arms over him hotly as she kissed his smackers sweetly as he zipped out.
"It's you, Lexy, Loxy, it's always you."
A fly buzzed in the soft shell of his ear. When he snapped at it with his free hand, the pages flipped. He let them close, looked down at himself, and laughed at his erection. It bulged his pants in a hot lump and he stood up feeling the light sweat under his clothes all over his body.
Benjamin Hackett hadn't worked in seven weeks. He hadn't shaved in five days and his dark beard was dirty and pinpricked him. Three hairs on his left cheek had grown themselves into his skin and little black loops of
hair sprouted from his tender, red base. He scratched. The room was dark and the one window that faced out to the street was heavily curtained in thick red velvet. When Benjamin moved in two weeks before, he had pulled the velvet but it was old and murky and dust showered thick around him as the curtains fell together again. A slit near his eye let in some light, but very little. Once Benjamin Hackett put his mouth over the light to catch the rays, but he didn't feel it. He shrugged his shoulders aware that no one could see him, pulled down the skin under his left eye, bowed, and crawled back into bed.
Now as his sweat lightly covered him, adding itself to the layers excreted during the two weeks, he sat clown on the floor next to his low single bed and wrapped his arms around himself. His knees were tight up against his chin and he forced them closer to his chest until they pained him. He squeezed his eyes for a few seconds, pushed his knees hard against himself and emitted a low gurgle from his throat. He blew at the gurgle as long as he could, ex-pending all his breath, and when his lungs had collapsed under the pressure, he flung out his arms, stood up, and breathed in the hot room air.
As far as Benjamin Hackett was concerned, his life was a summer flower. He often looked at himself after he masturbated and thought that he was the pulse of life. With his pants pulled down around his ankles, his bare rump on the dark green sheets, he watched his organ, tiny and limp, rest gently against the hairs of his groin. He held the moment. Then he would lift his fingers up to his face and wiggle them back and forth. His wriggling fingers would tap their way across his body, bounce over his stomach and land on his genitals. He played with himself until he had another erection and, when it was good and stiff, he quickly pulled up his tight underpants, forced his hard rod behind the cotton, and then fitted his pants up over his body. Last Sunday he had tried standing on his hands and holding the erection, but his filagree body had withered and collapsed into a loose bundle near his old clothes.
A single bulb burned over the room and as Benjamin breathed in air after his fierce gurgle, he looked around. He often looked around. He made it a habit to look at his room everyday to see if he could find something new. He felt good when he found a new spot. Good and stupid. Because whenever he found a new part of the room, he wanted to take the long hatpin with the plastic strawberry and jab it into his chest. But he didn't. Benjamin tried to cry at his lack of strength. Failing, again, he went up to the white sink and twisted the faucet on full letting the water swish out of the small bowl and fall down to his dark brown socks. When he had covered his face with water ripples, he looked into the mirror and watched the drops run through his beard and drip into the sink.
Someone knocked at the door twice. He listened. The person knocked twice more.
"Hello. Mr. Hackett?" Her voice was low like a fart. "Mr. Hackett?"
"What do you want?"
"Sheet change."
"What color are they?"
"Green."
"Light or dark green?"
"Dark."
"Good."
He opened the door for Mrs. Mastposito. She crawled in like a bug.
"Oh, so dirty." She didn't look at the room. "I pay on time, don't I?"
"Yes, yes.
"So don't complain."
She mumbled something incoherent to Benjamin who had crossed the room to sit in a brown-green stuffed chair with one good spring. As he sat in the chair watching her slowly take the sheets from the bed, he wondered what it would be like to kill her. But he couldn't get a clear picture of himself killing her or of her being killed so he picked up his book and continued reading.
Then, later, after they had flacked and Lex Baker was poolsing on a filterless lunger, Sally rolled her eyes to him and said, all femmy:
"Lexy, after all my slovers - and really not all come to image - not that I'm obscenious - just full! - you are my best."
"Thanks, Sally."
She giggled her mouth, then knitted. "Will we ever?"
"Don't boo me, Sally. I'm a he-fellow and I don't like being booed. Once more and quacky out. Reckon?"
"Oui, mon massy."
They flickered their lungers quietly as it darkened out of doors and soon Lexy had fallen to dreams. Sally, snubbing her lunger in the tray, put her hand and fingers on his face. He sooed from his dreams. She felty him and his lips pursed a clacky kiss.
"Lexy," she crimpered to herself, "someday, oftener than ever mentioned, we will clacky. Oh, yes."
Just at that spot, the bell on the inter clanged. Sally picked it up.
"Sally?"
"Here."
"Sally, me Burney. Hi. Lex near?"
"Hi, Burney. But he's regularizing."
"Up him, Sally. It's pungent."
"Oh, Burney."
"Sally!"
"Oh damn."
She tockled Lex. "Lexy, Lexy. Big bad Burning on the inter."
Lex opened his sockets and pickled the phone. "What, Burney?"
"Zoomy down to HQ. Moon shining no more. Sorry, Lexy."
"Damnable," said Lex under his air. Then, "Rights, Burney. I'll jiffy."
"Thanks, Lex."
"Yours truly."
"Oh, Lexy," scroached Sally. "Not again!"
"Sorry, Sal, but business is pulling."
"Oh I want to pull."
"Later, luscious."
"Oh!"
Lex zooped on his few clothes, glistened his hair, and whimming a softie cluck to her, zimmed around and was gone.
Back in the plush, Burney fumed with his pipe too. This case was the boggest ever to tread HQ and the ramifica¬tions were ignominious. Fretening even. But Burney, result of slave years long and ardor bound, tried to bonk like a pro. He would need all. And Lex Baker was his hat rabbit.
Mrs. Mastposito sang three lines from what Benjamin considered an unpublished Italian opera. She kicked a glass tinder his bed. Benjamin finally looked up and saw her fat round back covered in a long pleated dress which was dabbled with grease stains. The old woman pushed hard on each limb and slowly took the sheets off the bed.
"I didn't see the glass," she said.
"It's all right, Mrs. Mastposito."
She turned and looked at him as he sat in the chair.
Her eyes were pale gray and they scared him. She looked.
He smiled.
At times it was very difficult for her to understand Benjamin Hackett. She thought of him as a young bone heap with huge oval eyes that stared from his skull. She wasn't used to him and she felt she never would be. It upset her because she was sixty-eight and didn't like the fear which Benjamin stuck on her from his corner. Her eyes blinked when she thought of him; she felt cold in the shoulders. But she never told Benjamin that he frightened her. She grunted and made the bed.
Benjamin sat up in his chair, his feet under him, and slowly, painfully, he felt the moisture evaporate from his eyes as he watched her. Her back wrinkled over as she spread the fresh dark green sheets and his mouth dried. Mrs. Mastposito, in gray eyes, might turn and cat him. Mrs. Mastposito had a ticker inside that would explode him. Benjamin's stomach pained and he pushed in on his eyes until they hurt and tears sprung from him.
"Mrs. Mastposito?"
"What?" She folded in the bottom sheet. "Mrs. Mastposito. I love you."
"Uugh!" She spat without saliva.
"I love you, Mrs. Mastposito. I do. I love you." "You crazy boy. You crazy."
He watched her caressing the sheets, patting them flat, tucking in the overhanging ends. He breathed in hard and smelled her old body smell, overripe and syrupy. Nibbling his fingers, lie rubbed his long nails against his teeth which were still white. Mrs. Mastposito pulled on the sheet, banged the pillow, covered it and turned around.
"There."
"Thank you, Mrs. Mastposito."
"You devil."
From in him, he smiled.
"You're beautiful," he said.
"Uugh!"
"Beautiful."
She wrinkled her nose, shook her hand, and moved slowly out through the door. Inside, on the big chair, Benjamin, all wet on his face, closed his eyes. Then he opened them and looked at the strawberry hatpin. He looked up at the blazing light bulb, then pushed his head down and fell asleep.
Burney said to silence the ting-a-lings to his sundae who straightened her blouse. She blashed her lashes at Lex Baker, all hung and heavy, and tip-toetty swung tight the door for him.
"Now, Lex."
"Right, Burney."
"Aah -- aah-- secure a seat, Lex."
"Right."
Lex, with one thickly arm, swung over a steel heavy next to Burney's executive.
"Listen, Lex, we're in the hotsies."
Lex minded that hotsies is the term coded for extremes.
Only in dires is it ever even sush-mentioned. "The hotsies, Burney?"
"The hotsies, Lex."
"Oh. Day!"
"Glicken me, Lex Baker. Lately-oh, last couple or three years-HQ has flicked wide eyes at Operation Suffocate."
"I've memored the weeklies."
"Snappy. It now likelies that Operation Suffocate is bursting for the big squeeze out. Our chainy, lackluster and drizzle though he is, sniggled into their latest confab and eared the plans. Baker-ah, Lex-they want to aireate us."
"Day long bright! Aireate!"
"Aireate."
"But - but -"
"I cognize."
"Aireate!"
"I cognize well, Lex. Now grapple yourself. You we need."
"Aah-right, Burney."
Lex Baker grimaced his pluckers, chomped the softy ledges of the moist pink corners, and wracked forward to Burney.
"Siphon it to me, Burney."
"Their wares are complexed, but I'll wickle it to you as cleanly as possible. The Aireodom, giver of always spring to our clear-bright city, is the object. They want-now sound me tight, Lex-to pump noxiousness into our spring air, squeeze out all our fresh breathing, and suffocate our lungs. They want to kill our Spring Fresh."
"Then we dropsy!" He rigided himself, almost quack-ing.
"Right."
"Whop!" Glimmers shook from him. Burney gleered Lex Baker.
"Cool it, Lex."
"Sorry, Burney. But your idea formation catastronics me. I'll lach my pro-cool after I absorb the news. Give me twenty-five seconds."
"Surely, Lex."
Lex Baker gulped his air, closed his lookers, and rubbed his wrinkles. He allowed the air to swirl through him, rested his twenty-five, then said:
"Go on."
"To noxious our fresh breath would not pitress us, normally. But their wildid think is to then drop another Aireodom over ours, unintractable, and follow noxiousness with noxiousness."
"So even," droopled Lex, thinking, "if we splitted our own Aireodom to let in the dirtuvarsal atmosphink-as a quick life-like procedure-Operation Suffocate would have their Aireodom over ours, thereforebye sealing us."
"Right."
"Seems like Forever Doom."
"We heart not, Lex. We heart not."
"No always spring to wheethe, no kick life for us."
“Then -- Forever Doom."
"Hhmm," himmed Lex.
"Right."
"So me, me must break Operation Suffocate?"
"Right, Lex."
"Hhmm. When's target date?"
"Two weeks."
"Hhmm."
"Will you?"
"Hhmm." Lex wriggled his smackers. "I will, Burney."
"I beliefed you, Lex."
"Hhmm."
"I screachted them you."
"Hhmm."
"'Only Baker,' I pounded."
"Hhmm," gurbled Lex.
"Thanks, Baker. Thanks."
Benjamin Hackett, sick in his stomach, pulled out a long black hair from his head and marked his place. He was trying to prolong the tension so he closed the book. Then he stared at the light bulb. Progression for him was a sticky line but he felt good. During the two weeks that he had lived in the room, he had sat in the chair and examined everything. The walls were covered with green and red apple wallpaper. He tried to memorize each detail of the wrought iron bed. The moment he felt the bed frame with his eyes, he grinned because he could see clearly several scraped paint layers under the light blue. Benjamin pushed out of the chair and leaned on the velvet curtains, pressing himself to the glass window.
His bed sat in a corner that once had light grease stains on the walls. The stains had been about head level, if he curled on the bed leaning his body back. The grease was absorbed by the paper and spread thin and was almost the same color all around the bed on the walls. Sometimes at night, with the light bulb dark, he leaned on the wall with just his head and wondered who had leaned there before. Maybe, he thought, whoever they were, their head excretions would somehow pass from the wallpaper into his head if he leaned long enough. Maybe, if he stayed pressed against the red and green apple wallpaper, they would transmit themselves on to him and change him. He thought the passing might be good, but shivered. Benjamin didn't know them, didn't know all the people who had curled on the bed and leaned on the wall, and while the idea of absorbing their unknown parts intrigued him, he became so terrified of indiscriminate transmittal he bought white paint and covered all the grease stains. At first he leaned comfortably on the wall. But later the thought that they were all still there under the whiteness, waiting, frightened him so much that he moved the bed to the center of the room. Mrs. Mastposito had yelled like a bird but he just smiled tightly. At night, sleeping in the center of the room, his body was eased because his head was away from their walls. But then one night he sat up in bed, cold, and thought that they had creeped from the walls, out through the white paint, crawled along the floor and up on to his head into his hair. He jumped up and turned on the light. The paint was still white. The room, quiet. His fingers ran through his hair but even when he shook his head nothing fell out. Then, after he stood up on the bed to get a view of the room, he laughed. The whole imagining was absurd and he laughed harder. Then he pushed his bed back to the corner, turned out the light and fell asleep.
The next morning, for the first time in many days, he felt awake. His muscles didn't hurt. His stomach was clear and hungry. The whites in his eyes had only a few red blood lines. And even before he brushed his teeth his mouth felt fresh like the tang of a grapefruit. Benjamin Hackett knew his day. Looking in the mirror, he wriggled his body, and stuck out his lower lip as the soft inside lip tissues slipped up and over the hairs of his moustache which stuck at him. He picked up his safety razor. Benjamin touched the blade with his fingertips, enjoyed the newness, memorized the steel slipperiness, and felt the dry soap embedded in the black plastic grooves of the handle. Then, for the first time, he turned on the hot water. It spurted rust and he stood back from the sink as it crept over the basin and on to the floor. He watched.
He tongued his lips. He whimpered. He put his head into the sink letting the rust water tickle over him and stayed crouched as the water became less rusty, then clear, and then hot. The water fell on his hair and he felt cooled. Benjamin unbent, stood up and soaped his face watching himself in the mirror. He smiled. The soap curled around and almost into his mouth. He soaped his lips, opened them, and tongued some of the soap which dry stung him. His whole body warmed. His eyes were moist. The saliva ran down the insides of his pink mouth. The hair in his nostrils swelled with moisture that came from deep in his insides up through his chest, up to his head and out his eyes, his mouth, his nose. Benjamin Hackett shaved with a new razor blade, slowly, cleanly, bending himself when some hairs stuck to his skin as he scraped, glad when they fell free from him after he razored again, gliding over his cheek and chin, scraping, cleaning himself from his black beard until his face, all wet and smooth and pink, looked at him finely chiseled from the mirror. His face, dripping with warm water, soapless, with hairs so short he couldn't feel them even if he rubbed against the skin with his thumb. Hairs so black that the shadow around his face, from one sideburn to the other, over his upper lip, under his lower lip, around his chin and down his neck, this shadow, as he looked in the mirror after he dried his wet face, this shadow colored him pale gray on his white and pink skin and he knew his face would be smooth for a few minutes and he knew his clean face would be dry and from his well down in him, his rope gutted and Benjamin Hackett, smiling, tied his shoes and went out of his room and down the two dark flights to the city.
It was as if he had never left the street. The gray concrete still ran on both sides, there were a few more cracks, the garbage cans were still metal. The sky was up, the cars and trucks moved, the houses were dirty. He sprang along the sidewalk. No one looked at him. He looked every-where. Across the street he saw the coffee shop was still serving and he went into the fluorescence and ordered three eggs and bacon, orange juice, a toasted English muffin, and coffee. All the food filled him hot and his stomach surrounded the eggs and bacon, absorbed the juice and coffee until he could hold no more. He looked around. The waitress gave him a green check. He over-tipped her, rubbing the quarter against the formica with his thumb hoping the friction would heat the coin for her. As he paid the check at the cash register near the door, he watched her clear away his dishes and pick up his tip. She didn't look at him as she slipped the quarter into the front pocket of her white apron.
Outside again, Benjamin stuck both his arms to the sky and, all the way inside him, as he stood in front of the coffee shop, his energies built themselves up, pushing in him, running high through him, until he felt they might, if they could, jam out of his body at his fingertips and shoot to the sun which was clouded so he lowered his arms to his sides.
All around him, as he walked over to the Avenue, the people outside passed Benjamin without looking and his joy kept itself whole in his body which walked, as if on enormously thick rubber soles, over to the gym. Seven minutes later he stood in front of the columned building. He breathed in some air and climbed the steps. To the left of the lobby was a large office and although he could see inside because of the glass, he knew they couldn't hear him because the glass was thick. He opened the door and waited for Mrs. Raller to see him.
"Benjamin!"
He made sure she saw how real his smile was. "Where have you been?"
"How are you, Mrs. Raller?"
"Marvelous. It's about time you dragged yourself over.
Why, just the other day Margot said-"
"Ah-excuse me, but is my uncle in?"
She laughed. "Okay, Benjamin. Let me check."
He knew her. He could cut her off. In fact she liked it from him.
"Listen, Benjamin," she said coming back from his uncle's office, "he's in the middle of something. Why
don't you come back? Unless you need him now."
"No. No, it's all right. I'm going upstairs for a while."
"Okay. I'll tell him you're here."
"Thanks, Mrs. Raller."
He went up to the fifth floor in the tiny elevator. Apparently Hilden wasn't in today because Benjamin didn't know the new man. He wondered what happened to Hilden. When the elevator opened he saw Joey Crisper talking in the corner, trying to sell a number. He walked by quickly, picked up a towel and walked into the locker room.
Ever since Uncle Ralph had taken over the gym, Benjamin always had a special locker and a regular basket. During high school, when he skipped classes, he used to come down and help his uncle clean the floors, check the alkali in the pool, sort towels, wax the basketball court and mend the volleyball and basketball nets. Uncle Ralph used to joke that Benjamin spent more time in the gym than anyone, including Rocky who practically had his own corner in the weight room and would probably be buried there. But, his uncle would add with a twist of his cigar, Benjamin was still the runtiest. Runtiest was his uncle's word and at first Benjamin was unhappy with it but when the other regulars caught the word and threw it affectionately at him, he acquiesced with a gentlemanly scowl, grinning underneath that they would even call him anything because at sixteen he was still five feet five and three-quarter inches. Uncle Ralph, six foot three, used to pour food into Benjamin from his small white refrigerator in the corner of his office. Benjamin, pushing his heel into the rug next to Uncle Ralph's desk, would sit on the edge of the chair and eat. He wanted to eat so much and blow up so big that no one would ever call him "runtiest" again. Ralph was pleased his nephew ate, and smiled from behind the desk as Benjamin stuffed down food. Two years later, Ralph attributed Benjamin's five feet nine inches to his office refrigerator.
In the locker, Benjamin wasn't sure what to do. He stood in front of his basket, one of two thousand cased in racks along the walls and stared at his number, 448. An old jock, sweat socks with a dirt layer on the soles, a rumpled undershirt, and short athletic shorts were behind the woven metal. But he decided to swim. He pulled off his clothes and stood in front of the locker naked. The overhead fluorescent lighted him evenly and he bent his head forward and leaned against the locker. His body always shivered when he was naked. He was shivering and the tan locker was cool on his forehead and he wanted to bang his skull. Then he stood straight, smiled at Mickey who was sweating from the track and walked through the long room, in and out of rows of lockers, past the sinks, jumped on the scale and watched the springless machine pointer stop at 144. He looked at his slight reflection in the glass in front of the pointer and smiled. Benjamin had lost only sixteen pounds in the few weeks. He took his book, his towel and his soap, climbed up the stairs to the pool, hung his towel on the rack, slipped his soap on the shelf, and walked along the pool to the hot room.
Although Benjamin had been around the gym for years, he had been inside the hot room only once when he was much younger. But Benjamin had watched the men who heated themselves. He sailed past a hollow aluminum door with the small window and stood for a moment in front of the second door, which led into the hot room. The gap between the two doors was just large enough to stand in. It was dark and hot. He looked into the bright room as he clutched his book and squeezed his knees back. The door behind him opened and Benjamin, without thinking, pushed.
There, hot, hot inside the room, the heat pressed down on him so quickly and so strongly with such hot force that lie thought he would faint. The heat heavily curled around him and even though the room was bright, he thought everything was about to go dark. Sweat immediately poured up and off his body while his fingers, holding the book, left sweat prints on the cover. Benjamin swayed as the man behind him walked to a corner and Benjamin moved to the fountain and grasped the handle. He pushed his face into the cold water and felt it cool his brow and cheeks and mouth and nose while the rest of his body sweated ripplets of water down over his warm skin. Letting the water stop, he picked up his head and crossed the room to a round stool. Almost sitting down, Benjamin suddenly held his motion, then reversed himself up. He shoved the stool under the faucet and washed its seat. Old men watched him while others leaned and tried to press their hands to the floor. Benjamin, covered with his own sweat that trickled down his skinny body, slid the stool to the center of the room and sat. The wooden stool top was cold for a moment and when he put his behind down, he felt the sweat layer between his body and the wooden top slide. He thought of his wrought iron bed with its many paint layers. He wondered how many layers had covered the stool top. He smiled.
It seemed, while he gulped in the yellow tiled room, that his body had now accepted the heat. As he sat feeling bright hot air, he realized the inside of his mouth was still cold. He ran his tongue over his teeth and felt them cool. He opened his mouth to warm them. Then Benjamin opened his book and read between the sweat drops.
Wicking out of Burney's plushy, Lex Baker had a scry on his face. Indeed, it was the boggest case he had ever grappled. That, he imaged as he shot down the narrow in his Coup, he, Lex Baker, should be pointed to clarry and close the case, was, without a sling, a great meteor in his putch. And his hittest compete, Roy Raga, wasn't evern Confidenced by Burney. It looks to me, thunk Baker, as if I, supreme, can cap the case. The whole shmilly is up to me and maybe, he mused, the Benevolent might even supper me at the Glass Dome. Oh. Maybe.
The type on the page was beginning to smear from Benjamin's forehead sweat and he pushed the book away with his thumb. Held at arm's length, the pages looked splotched. Benjamin closed the covers and walked out of the room. Just before he pulled the door which led to the little gap between the hot room and the hallway, he felt all the heat pushing down on him again. Although it took a split second to pull the door, as his hand raised to grasp the handle covered with rope, it seemed as if Benjamin's time was suspended in midair. He felt himself in a slow motion fever and the bright yellow tiles reflected his body heat and the room heat and covered him again and again as if he were a meal being roasted. His fingers reached the handle, he pulled, fell into the dark gap, pushed against the other door and there, suddenly cool in the doorway, Benjamin breathed quickly as all the excess boiling heat from his body floated off into the air. He didn't think as he walked down the hallway and past the pool to the shelves near the showers. After he had dropped his book next to his towel, Benjamin, his eyes still hot, walked to the far end of the pool and dove straight down.
The water was cold and just as he touched the bottom with his hands, the chill ate through him shocking his body and he swung his feet under him, crouched on the floor of the pool and with all his strength, pushed hard and up so that he shot to the top breaking through the water to the air and kicking his legs from the cold and shaking his suddenly iced body. After he surfaced and rubbed his arms, he lay flat on his stomach, kicked his legs from the thighs, propelled his arms over his head one by one, and crawl stroked as fast as he could to the end of the pool. When he touched the ledge, he pulled himself in close to the side as he raised his bunched legs to the wall, and pushed and flung himself into the pool so he could swim back. This lap was easier. He threw his arms up over his head and cupped his hands and pulled down against the water, floating through the pool as if liquid mercury silvered off his body and he could swim back and forth, kicking gently, muscling his arms over and under him, gliding across the water as if forever encased in a cooling wrap. His head, halfway under water, turned to the side, grabbed air through his open mouth, then rolled back under water as he breathed out through his nose. He co-ordinated his movements, surged, felt cloud carried, and the insides of his body were wet. Back and forth he swam in the same easy rhythm, pushing his muscles and feeling, for the first time in weeks and weeks and months, each part of his body moving over and through the water. After four laps, he grabbed the ledge, hung on and stopped. There was too much chlorine in the water and his eyes stung. He knew they would be red.
Benjamin, kneeling ii, the shallow end of the pool, let the water ripple over his chin. Despite the cool, his body felt warm. He waited, letting his muscles quiet. Then he rose from the pool, climbed out and stood under a hot shower for a long sleepy time. His muscles felt tight under the hot water and as he stood there, looking at the glass cubes that walled the showers from the pool, his hands hung by his naked sides. His eyelids, half closed, felt powerless and he stood under the shower, thinking nothing, not moving, letting the water surround him and soothe him. Finally he moved his hand to the dish and rubbed soap with soft edges over his hair. He soaped his whole body, washed away the suds, and soaped again. After his body was completely lathered, he turned off the water and stood under the shower head. The soap clung to him and as he stood longer, almost not moving, the soap bubbles, very slowly, started to dry. Benjamin felt his heart without moving. He tried not wrinkling his skin as the soap itched him. He stood still. Then, after he thought he could feel every part of his body, he turned on the cold water and washed the soap away. He grabbed his towel and his book and walked down the stairs and back to his locker.
After he dressed, Benjamin went down in the elevator to see his uncle who had gone out.
"But, Benjamin," said Mrs. Raller with such a round, sweet voice, "he left some food."
Benjamin sat on the round edge of his uncle's leather chair and ate a roast beef sandwich on rye with butter and lettuce, a ham and swiss cheese on pumpernickel, prune yogurt, a coffee-chocolate milk shake, and a slice of cherry cheese cake. Mrs. Raller glowed. He ate steadily, not saying anything to her, and stared at his food until it disappeared. His forehead, right under the front of his hairline, had speckles of sweat because he was warm and still moving and the cold food in his stomach chilled him but he ignored the temperature change and ate. Mrs. Raller, whom Benjamin considered almost a seer, gave him a hot cup of coffee to finish his meal and the liquid tumbled around in his food in his belly and warmed him. Benjamin, happy, clean shaved, showered, full, smiled. Benjamin, all in his clothes which covered his skin and kept him dry. Benjamin who took Mrs. Raller's hand and kissed it. Benjamin with brown eyes and quivering lips, excused himself from Mrs. Raller who smiled and Benjamin put on his coat, waved good-bye as she sighed with her hands on her breasts as he walked back to his room where he took his nail clippers from a tiny lacquered box and gashed each thumbnail so deeply and so harshly that they bled freely over his new sheets. Benjamin, with curly black hair, put each thumb into his mouth, lay down, and sucked himself until he fell asleep.
Later, when Benjamin woke up, his thumbs had stopped bleeding. His pillowcase had red stains where his thumbs had fallen out of his mouth. He ignored them. After he swung his feet over the side of the bed to the floor, he stood up, crossed to the dresser, pulled with little fingers the top drawer which came out to his chest and took two band-aids. He bit off the, paper ends and pulled out the gauze and adhesive. Stripping them of their paper, Benjamin wrapped one around each thumb and went back to his bed. From under the mattress he pulled out a black spiraled notebook, propped himself against the wall with his pillow and, holding the pen between his second and third fingers, wrote:
BENJAMIN'S MYSTERIES
His tight closed eyes stuck gluey but moist to remember himself. Everything spiders in black and white as he slips cobwebby out of doors, up and down steps of silver threads, crisscrosses the car streets in his grapefruit brain, leaps bull-like down the sidewalks as if his whole windmill mind is an old silent movie where everyone wears baggy clothes and the girls are sweet plumps and everyone propellers their needs and runs too fast. The ugly platypus side of him wants to sit crunched in new blue sheets and keep his eyes closed while all the jerky pictures jump in his mind. But then when he gets up or looks in the mirror, he sees another part that wants to ramrod him clean. To find out. But what will happen? Benjamin Hackett will just sit here in a small room with so much calm at his disposal that he will slowly sink into the bed until all his ennui will drip to the floor like wax, staining the wood, but leaving him free and smaller. Benjamin Hackett wants to make himself so tiny that he can look out and see everything. So tiny that he can ride a speck of dust around the city and watch everyone fixing their toilets in little rooms with no light. Benjamin Hackett would like to write his I's and say: i am the one who knows you and i understand that you are and i can be trusted. i am so small that i can know your secrets and i won't tell them to anyone but you and when you know the secrets you have told me, i will be.
Now right this moment, Benjamin Hackett has finally decided. The hot room heated his blood and now he can. Because Benjamin, in the streets of New York, can eat all the cement, chew all the glass, gurgle dirt, swallow it down, throw it up and everything will be the same except for one thing. All of this city will be cleaner. By that he means: Benjamin cleaner. And all of you will know that Benjamin Hackett, boy of his bed, Benjamin Hackett, stinking like dead, Benjamin Hacking, filled with red, Benjamin can take his Hackett and will. He will. Benjamin will.
Therefore Benjamin, with what he called his Hackett, threw down his book, though not before he reread his writings and closed it carefully so that the notebook would fall to the floor flat and unhurt. Benjamin, so young, got up from his bed, picked up his Lex novel, put on his medium and only jacket and went back outside. He went down to the IRT uptown local, bought his fare, dropped the token carefully into the slot trying not to bruise the hurt of his thumbs, and waited. Benjamin stood for the train. He would usually stand quietly, his mind blank. But now Benjamin looked down the tunnel for the headlights. He saw none. He bounced back and forth on his toes, waiting and feeling his muscles. Benjamin, all blood, smiled at a girl who was carrying two packages. She smiled back slowly, then dropped her eyes. He moved closer to her.
"Does this train go to Rector Street?" she asked. She wore a black fur cap.
"Gee, no," said Benjamin. "That's the downtown train on the other side."
"Oh, dear," she said and ran out through the exit.
Benjamin watched her run up the stairs in her black stockings and waited until he could see her running down the stairs on the other side. She talked to the man in the booth and ran through the EXIT ONLY door, then waved to Benjamin. Her train moved in and stopped and after she got in she looked for Benjamin who was watching.
He waved to her and the train moved out. He lowered his head and smiled and scratched his chest. Then his train came and he got on and sat down. The doors closed, the train grunted, then pulled out. He opened his book to read.
"Firstly," loudly imaged Lex Baker, "digging is priority. I must research this stickiness to reveal the exact approach. Then and only then."
"Baker!" sclurtched Burney over the two-way. "Stop meddling and voicing. Privates should be silent. Uproar away and onto the work."
Lex, blooded to his face, skirmed in his seat that Burney had eared him. In all the years that he worked with Burney, Lex had wormed his privates privately and now this crupt bleeching by Burney shook Lex's softies. But, with a blink of his lookers, he activated his beam and hummed along with the song. It was, for him, a crystal day filled with new and Lex glickened on, set his control for Aireodom Central and snoozed and hummed away the fifteen minute ride.
Once there, Lex zipped out of his Coup and leaped to the asserter. He whipped his punch from his carrier, placed it in the compartment and slipped inside as the asserter's beam relaxed for him. Lex always had in his carrier many coders which allowed him entry to practically all the official stations. This station, importance included, was no excep¬tion. After identifying himself with the head man who wore thin synthetic gloves, Lex was able to mamble as freely as he cared throughout the Aireodom. Of course, no one even momentaried why he was there but accepted his rank and assumed it was a usual recheck. And Lex Baker acted to support the notion of routine in his supple moves.
"Hi!" he blurted, eager but cool as if he said it perpetually. "All appears okay."
Lex had approached the Important who controlled the touches to the snapping and the unsnapping of the actual Aireodom itself. This essence's job was to watch all day the little green and red lights. In scarries, he was to finger the green which would unsnap the Aireodom and allow in the dirtuversal. This had been necessitated only twice before when the Spring Fresh had failed and extremes were emergencied. But Lex didn't memory this, as he was still cubbing in his communal with his fellow denners.
"Ever bleary watching all these touches?" asked Lex all warm-a-face.
"Can't," opened the Important. "All electricated, you cognize?"
"Oh, surely, surely," rapidited Lex slipping away from his blotch as subtly as he could manage. "These new contacts to. the Most Important are so well zippered, I didn't see yours."
"Ha, ha!" screaltched the Important who patted his silk half moon on his bald brain. "Ha-neither does my coital!"
"Clever fellows these Innovators," said Lex thinking the old weary probably paid his coital double the standard. "But if it's good it's - "
"Important," quicked the Important, his lookers dazzling. "And if it's important, it's good."
"Right!" blurted Lex. "Right. Say, Important, what's your code so I can recco a glory-star to you."
"Gorry me," sniled the Important closing his fatty lookers. "Gorry but that's mighty of you."
"Ah-but you worthy it."
"Gorry," whinnied the Important rubbing his old pleasures. "Gorry. It tapes as WE1212Ir194D000."
"Thanks," grinned Lex blinking his left looker and seeming to imprint the Important's code into his recall. "Say," started Lex as if all were sunny, "mind if I scale the Aireodom a bit? My most important great ancestor de-signed it a couple of hundred back."
"Gorry! But sure, Fellow – er – aah- Fellow-“
“Baker," said the braver. "Lex Baker."
"Sure, Fellow Baker."
"Yours truly," whissed Lex and whickled away.
The old Important fondlied at him and grashed a hot drop from his eyes.
But Lex had already moved to the Climb Room. He charged on hoppers, which were exactly the right size for his feet, and started to scale the Aireodom upside down in full fiery, something he had always fantasied since he was just a little den runner.
Even though he was interested in the book, Benjamin put it down. It was the train. He had had a lovely thought hoping he would be able to read the book while he rode the train. Both actions were movements and once, in the middle of a sentence, he wondered where each action began and where it ended. Benjamin could see himself riding on the train and riding with his brain and the night before as he lay in bed he wondered if he could see his two lines moving. So today on the train he tried but because of all the buzzing and clashing noises around him, he wasn't able to read or concentrate on even one line of action. Finally he closed his book, got off at the next station, climbed up and around and down and went back to the 23rd Street stop.
Two days later, after Benjamin had eaten some dinner, he tried the route again with his book but could do no more than stare at the cover and let his head shake as the train joggled on to different stations. When he finally realized that he was almost sleeping, Benjamin changed for the 42nd Street train, climbed up into the pizza floating neon night and, quite self-consciously, went to an all night movie and slept in the next to the last row. He dreamed Clarissa was panting to make love to him and woke up just as the villains were mowed down by machine guns and everyone was screaming which made him glad because sweet Clarissa had given him a wet dream to mark herself indelibly as part of him.
"I need a woman," said Benjamin to the sleeping old woman next to him. "Benjamin needs to act." He got up, crawled over the legs of the straggled haired body and went out of the theater. He had no idea of the time because 42nd Street always smells the same. Benjamin, awake, groggy but soon to be fresh, went into a cafeteria, drank coffee and went to the phone, dialed and waited for many rings.
"Pamella?" he said.
"Who in the name of God?"
"Benjamin."
"It's four-thirty in the morning, you little crap." "Were you sleeping well, Pamella?"
"I don't know."
"Why?"
"I was -- sleeping." Her voice was very quiet and she giggled.
"Go back to sleep, Pamella."
"Sure, Benjamin. Thanks for calling, you little crap." "Ah, Pamella. Ah."
"Ah gee whiz a rooty, you skunk." "Good night, Pam."
"Nighty, night, naughty, naughty," she giggled and hung up.
Wrecked, thought Benjamin laughing to himself that he had been her first lay. Wrecked and screwing all night now I'll bet. All night. All night. He looked at his face in the window of a sports store and for one hanging second wondered what would happen if he punched his fist into the glass with all his force with his teeth clenched so heavy he'd have to break through. Benjamin squeezed his hand in his jacket and waited a split second deciding what to do. Then he hardened his fist so tight that only his bones came through the skin and with three swift punches, he bashed himself on his thigh, then hobbled to the bus and went home to sleep.
The next day before he brushed his teeth and combed his hair down, Benjamin, clear headed and dry eyed, pulled his notebook out from under his bed, listened to the phone ringing in the hall, and wrote on a new page.
BENJAMIN'S MYSTERIES II
It's funny how Benjamin can feel his muscles. Benjamin all shiny headed squints on the page licking his crusty untoothpasted teeth and prods the ink to flow. It moves. So Benjamin, glittering, snuggles into his spirit robe and trickles out his dream.
If i, he writes in his modest way, were given to think anything, i'd want to think everyone's mind. A simple and commonplace request, surely my lord. Just as i swing down the streets trying to New York the New Yorkers and watch out for a sly fuck either for me or against me, now kind lord from grammar school days, let me think everyone. Give me the something that gets their minds. i want to squeeze them without their knowing it and maybe someday, if i ever get older, someday i'll tell them and they can squeeze me.
But Benjamin's beating his brain, while admirable in itself, sometimes produces small drops of alcohol that burns and then evaporates. So: new road.
Benjamin - no; i'll begin without him.
In a far away land lived an old rich king who used to wander out to his butterfly collection and rub his fingers against the wings of his most prized butterflies and then glide his powdered fingers along his tongue. Although the taste was bitter and his butterflies died, the King did this every day, unknown to his kingdom. The butterfly keeper, who was paid a great deal of gold, waited for his Royal Highness every morning and when he saw the King approach, waved his arms around the cages so all the butterflies would flutter in the air and please the King. Then one day a boy came to the kingdom and seeing all the beautiful butterflies in all their cages, sneaked into the Butterfly House in the morning even before the butterfly keeper had gotten up and released all the butterflies. The King, when he came later that morning, saw the usual waving but missed some of the bright colors. He was old and partially blind and went up to the butterfly keeper and rubbed his fingers across the keeper's shirt which was made from butterfly wings. The keeper was afraid of the King and waved his arms frantically as the King rubbed the butterfly shirt. Then after the King had gone, the butterfly keeper ran away. The next d v the King came to the cages, saw and heard nothing, waved his hands desperately in front of his blind eyes, smiled at the colors. Over on the neighboring hills, all that summer, the boy played with his butterflies until they flew away. Then he went home.
Benjamin put down his pen, closed his notebook and laid his head on the pillow. For what seemed like several days, he rested. After he opened his eyes, he pushed his legs off the bed and onto the floor, stood up, washed his face and went out. He walked over to the gym to see his uncle. Mrs. Raller was typing behind her desk.
"Benjamin! You're getting to be a regular feature around here again."
"Only the second time, Mrs. Raller."
"I know. But I'm hopeful," she said. "Is Uncle-"
"He'll be right back."
"Oh." Benjamin sat down. "What are you typing?"
"Minutes from the last meeting."
"Does it take long?"
"The typing?"
"Okay."
"Well, I guess sometimes it does. I've never really thought about it. You really shouldn't think while you type."
"Do you type much?"
"That's only part of my work."
"Good to hear it, Mrs. Raller."
"Yes." She smiled at him and he watched her red lips and white jowls bounce.
"How is Uncle Ralph?"
"Oh, Benjamin, he's getting older."
"Well I assumed that."
"His memory isn't what it was."
"Ah."
"You know he still works too late at night."
"No."
"Yes. And he dictates his reports so fast. Sometimes I think he hasn't even thought them out."
"That isn't like him."
"No," she said. "It isn't. In the old days he was so sure about what he wanted. Now-well, now I just don't know."
"Why?"
"He really needs help, Benjamin. Someone to come in and do all the things he planned for."
"This sounds like an offer, Mrs. Raller."
"Oh, no, Benjamin. Just some advice."
"That's good."
They looked at each other and smiled and Mrs. Raller went back to typing and Benjamin watched her lips and jowls.
A few minutes later he said, "I'm going to work out."
"Oh," she said looking up at him. "That's fine, Benjamin."
"I'll be back later."
"Good."
Benjamin took the tiny green elevator up to the fifth floor, picked up a towel and went to his basket. He dialed the combination and pulled it open. Although his sweat socks were old and yellow, they were very soft and Benjamin felt them in his hands, then laid his socks down on a square wooden stool, slowly took off his clothes and hung them up. He put on his socks first, untangled his jock, pulled it on, put on a shirt and shorts and tied his sneakers. The lockers were new and on top of his towel he put his soap, then slammed the door shut.
It was still early in the afternoon and the high school kids hadn't invaded. Benjamin walked through the rows of lockers, weighed himself, then went up the stairs. Down below was the gym where a volleyball game was being played and Benjamin could watch part of it from the track that went around the top of the gym. Several windows were open and as he walked the two laps before he would jog, some cool air blew in on him and touched his skin through the thin gym clothes. The floor of the volleyball court was highly waxed and he wondered who was staying late twice a week with the big drums of liquid wax, scrubbing the floor and then polishing. He hoped it wasn't his uncle but was afraid it might be because Uncle Ralph would do it himself if he thought it might not get done on time. Uncle Ralph would even skip dinner if he had to and Aunt Flora would sit in the kitchen keeping his dinner warm. Sometimes she would call Mrs. Raller who was always very nice to Aunt Flora and Mrs. Raller would tell her what was going on. Now Mrs. Raller was so kind that if Uncle Ralph had to stay late to do some work, she would call Aunt Flora and tell her what he was doing and when he'd be home. The two women got along very well even though they had met only once at Uncle Ralph's father's funeral.